


Slightly more subtle Brontë references

by Gigs



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: First Time, M/M, not so secret relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 02:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigs/pseuds/Gigs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have enough time to enjoy each other and Roman notices how there is nothing to notice but Peter.</p><p>Currently a stand-alone but may be branched out to a multi-chaptered deal if time permits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slightly more subtle Brontë references

**Author's Note:**

> Smut with a dash of plot is always a bit of fun!

Roman’s room is a mess of discarded bags, torn off clothes and an air of “are you sure?” and “of course I’m fucking sure Roman stop being a dick!” and Roman sinking to his knees with an eager grin and those damn lips while Peter’s hands tangle in his thick hair. Hidden kisses and running about for weeks to rushed handjobs and mouths everywhere made for fun but they’d never had time enough for this. The idea of keeping it secret appealed to and disgusted both of them, they understood but loathed the necessity. They were doing a pretty good job of it so far though. Lynda was away, Olivia out all day with Shelley and a conveniently timed fire drill had occurred at school.  
  
Now it’s Peter on his knees, face red as fingers open him up and tease gasps and words from him. He thinks he doesn’t even have to see Roman’s face to sense his smirk but the look when he looks back over his shoulder is something closer to rapture. That sharp wide-eyed interest that Roman displays at very little because very little holds his attention for very long. Their eyes meet for a long few seconds, the look heavy and hot as his swollen dick and Roman’s touches on his skin. As Roman withdraws his fingers at last Peter drops his head inhaling low and quiet.  
  
His breath is caught in his chest as Roman sinks into him and how apt the action is. There’s no finer definition for the effect they have on each other. Trading off turns at captive and saviour, blurring the lines from each side so much that having all the power almost makes you weaker than the person in the cell to which only you hold a key. He’s brought out of the reverie with a squeeze to his hips by a large set of hands, the squeeze is asking permission, his head drops and he pushes back, wordless and wanting.  
  
Roman’s hands hold him loosely, dragging across his burning skin to comfort him. His body is tense at the touch but relaxes slowly as Roman leans forward to being them flush together, his chest against Peter’s back, till not even sweat seems to exist between them. This sends him deeper into Peter and the breath seems to be held even tighter. Roman’s hands fly to Peter’s throat stroking and coaxing the breath out. He presses a kiss to the juncture of his neck and shoulder in time with a slow roll of his hips. He smiles as the breath comes rushing out of Peter’s throat. Free.  
  
Their right hands tangle in the sheets to hold each together and up while Roman’s left presses the tattoo on its way to hold Peter’s hip. They move together, falteringly at first, a mix of mindful of each other not wanting to be the weaker of the two. Their usual push, pull, push further, realise they need help and fall back and then push together better and stronger than before. The roll of Roman’s hips drives curse words and snippets of prayer from Peter. As their pace increases so does their soundtrack, the creak of wooden beams, muffled words, wet slap and slide of skin the groans that don’t just come from Peter but Roman too.  
  
“Touch yourself for me,” he says into the stretch of skin on Peter’s neck he’s been marking up, “for yourself, fucking do it. I’ll hold us up.” His words are staccato and gravelly, said in time with each snap of his hips. Peter complies in a heartbeat, trust in Roman’s arms. He’s barely begun to jerk himself off before he can feel the pleasure that’s running wild through his frame begin to coil at his core. So different from the wolf but the heat comparison is not unimaginable. Roman’s close as well his thrusts are deep and unfaltering but his grip on Peter’s is almost punishing. As soon as Peter opens his mouth to tell him he appears to become aware of it and moves so they’re on their right side. Roman’s right hand cups Peter’s face in apology, his finger tips drag across Peter’s kiss-bitten lips before moving back to hold loosely around the long column of his throat again.  
  
“Imagining a collar?” Peter asks breathily, they both chuckle and Roman begins to move again, rebuilding the rhythm they’d lost in the move.  
  
“Maybe. I don’t need one though.” The possessiveness could not be clearer and Peter reached back to pull their hips closer together. He chokes out an “I’m...” as Roman bites down on his skin and that’s it. His hips jerk trying to push back against Roman and into his fist as he comes with a throaty exhalation that’s some distortion of Roman with sounds of ecstasy.  
  
Roman fucks him through it following just as Peter is coming down, teeth anchoring them in the position and moment.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
They come to a shuddering rolling halt they share a breathy “shee-it” and laugh, adding to the sex-drenched room. Slowly they move apart, rolling up the window to smoke out of it, forgoing getting dressed beyond boxers and even then that had almost been abandoned entirely.  
  
Blowing smoke to the breeze Peter craned to look at his mark. Lynda was going to kill him if she saw it. Fucking Roman. He looked up at the smug bastard, who spoke up teasingly,  
  
“Living with Shelley we have our fair share of dress-up shit...you’re welcome to a long wig if you want to hide it,” he blew a smoke ring that looked more like a kiss, “or a stylish scarf.” He receives a light kick to the shin.  
  
“Pretty sure that’ll raise more questions than it’ll avoid.” Peter replied pressing it one last time and enjoying the way it twinged.  
They sat in comfortable silence, both enjoying the warm sex glow and each other’s nearness, until a confused look flickered across Roman’s face.  
  
“Gay panic?” Peter offered as Roman’s face contorted. He laughed and shook his head,  
  
“Fuck no, just...” he scratched at his hairline thoughtfully, “...it’s a bit fucked up but when I fuck somebody, I...” he hesitated then glanced at Peter and shrugged. Peter waited patiently, Roman’s confessions were something you had to wait out as opposed to force and Peter felt a flush of pride knowing that he alone wouldn’t have to wait very long at all. Sure enough Roman resumed his talking. His voice was casual whenever he admitted things about his past or predilections, of course knowing you’re fucked up and accepting that is very different to confessing it to someone whose opinion you give a shit about.  
  
“Well you know I like blood right?” Roman started up again, “I have to see it to get off. Well I don’t have to...but it helps like...” he gestured with the almost burned out cigarette. “It’s kind of a pleasure thing and orgasms are the shit but the blood is just extra.” He stubbed the cigarette out and threw it, irritatingly easily into a container on his dresser.  
  
“That’s not the weird part though; blood kinks and all that exist but...”  
  
Peter looked at him levelly and motioned for him to get to his point,  
  
“I didn’t do it with you.” Roman finished contemplatively eyes searching Peter for a reaction, an answer, or both. Peter looked around jokingly warily,  
  
“Is this the part where you go for a razor or ask for us to duke it out fight club style because I’m not up for either of that.” Roman’s seriousness lightened as they laughed and his hands closed the cigarette box.  
  
“No I just...I didn’t need it...I don’t even want it you know like...what we did was enough. The craving’s just gone.” Roman’s hands emphasized something vanishing and he tapped the window sill in abstraction. “There’s usually like voices but it was totally quiet, I always wished them away but then I’d be alone you know...but I wasn’t you were there.” He coughed. “Just you and me and it was you know...peaceful...and really fucking hot.” He amended with a grin.  
  
Peter watched his fingers and he said aloud, “Like it had been suppressed.” He received a punch on the arm out of congratulations and Roman’s face relaxed into a smile.  
  
“That’s the word. You’re clearly my little suppressant. Hey” he began excitedly, “maybe I can’t persuade you do things either you know with my,” he waved his hand about his eyes, “like you’re the less pathetic Bella to my infinity times better Edward shit.”  
“You did not just compare us to them” Peter cried in mock outrage, hiding the sickening twist in his stomach at Roman’s comparison. It had nothing to with literary taste. It had everything to do with what the both of them really were. Roman hadn’t noticed he’d just kept laughing and Peter found himself quelling the unsettling feeling at the back of his mind and joined in.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Roman’s tangent about Twilight was forgotten as the laughing escalated into kissing only to be broken by the sound of Mrs Godfrey returning home. It was forgotten during Peter’s mad scrambling for his clothes while Roman distracted his mother with the news about the delay on their swimming pool refill. It was forgotten until dinner when Destiny Rumancek took Peter’s dinner plate from him and remarked on what a big mouth his girlfriend must have. Peter had laughed it off awkwardly and made to go for a run when Destiny had caught his arm her face smiling but her eyes serious.  
  
“Is she a nice girl?” she asked eyes boring into her cousin’s. Peter nodded grateful for the first time in his life that his mother was out on a herb scavenge three towns over and gone for the night. Destiny’s smile stretched into a grin, “terrible at sex though.” She moved away from him and he blurted out,  
  
“What makes you say that?” he shifted from foot to foot, fingers itching for his bag and legs itching to take him far away and heart itching for...well...Roman.  
  
“Not much good if she’s standing behind you Peter,” Destiny smirked piling plates into the sink. She turned and tapped the mirrored spot on her own shoulder, drawing her lips up to show her teeth. “Incisors honey, they leave more of a mark.” Peter swallowed and ducked his head,  
  
“I’ll be sure to tell her that and thanks for dinner it was great!” He replied although the last part was more shouted back at her as he hurriedly left her apartment.  
  
Destiny sighed and shut the door behind her cousin, “It would appear stupidity and subtlety go hand in hand” she said addressing her tequila bottle. “I’m not sure who’ll kill Roman faster out Olivia or Lynda.” She rubbed a hand over her face, quick mind imagining the myriad of catastrophic ways this could end and questioning the confusing ways it had come about and how on earth they were going to keep it a secret.  
  
“Stupid boys,” she sighed one last time before taking herself and her bottle to bed.


End file.
